


Luminous

by ebbj9891



Series: In Quest Of Something [12]
Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff, M/M, POV Justin Taylor, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-12
Updated: 2014-10-12
Packaged: 2018-02-20 21:11:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2443283
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ebbj9891/pseuds/ebbj9891
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Now that he's finished temping at Kinnetik, it's time for Justin to return to conquering the art world. He decides to make a start by spending some time painting his all-time favourite subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Luminous

"Taylor!" 

"Yes, Mr. Kinney?"

"Can I see you in the conference room, please?"

Justin suppresses a laugh at Brian's decisively formal tone. Abandoning his station in the art department, he heads in to the conference room to find Brian waiting for him at the head of the table.

Assuming a very professional tone, Justin asks, "You wanted to see me, sir?"

Brian smiles at him and says coolly, "I'm in need of your services, Taylor."

"Really?" Justin smiles and closes the door. As soon as it's locked, he dives into Brian's open arms. After a very generous bout of kissing, Justin reaches for Brian's belt buckle.

He's surprised - no, stunned, actually - when Brian stops him and says, "Not that."

Justin bats Brian's hand away and grabs at his belt buckle again. "What better way to service you, my dear?"

"Later," Brian laughs, putting a stop to Justin's advances once again. Justin scowls as Brian grabs him by the shoulders and steers him around to face the sprawling conference room table. Lying in the center are three CVs, spread out in alphabetical order. They're for the new creative director that Brian has been searching for since last month. Brian kisses the top of Justin's head and explains, "After much extensive deliberation, we're down to the final three candidates... who's it going to be?"

That's even more surprising than Brian rejecting Justin's offer of a blow job. Reeling around to stare at Brian in shock, Justin asks, "You want me to choose?"

Brian nods. "Cynthia narrowed the pool of applicants down from thirty to twenty. She and I then got it down to ten. I had a lot of fun slashing it from ten to three... and now I'm stuck."

Grinning, Justin teases, "Shall I close my eyes and point?"

"I was hoping for a slightly more meticulous approach," Brian drawls, settling in the nearest chair. "You've been here for a month now, you know the team, you know me... you've got this."

"Okay." Justin nods, although he feels slightly self conscious with Brian watching him expectantly. He only stepped into the role temporarily, after all. It was purely a favour to Brian. He doesn't have any experience with hiring or firing, and this is a very important decision to be in charge of. He surveys the CVs carefully, reminding himself of the interviews he sat in on with Brian and Cynthia. He reaches for the middle CV. "Well, for starters, this guy has to go."

"How come?"

It's like a pop quiz. Justin is almost sure Brian left that CV in as a test. He pulls a face at his treacherous partner, who simply smiles and raises his eyebrows, awaiting the answer. Justin hands him the CV and explains, "Well, you're someone who likes to take chances and push the envelope. This guy, on the other hand, is vanilla. Generic brand vanilla. His credentials are great but his portfolio gives new meaning to the word 'predictable'. You wouldn't last a week with this guy. He'd bore you to tears."

"Good point," Brian remarks. "So, it's down to Tom or Ellen. Who's it going to be?"

Justin picks up both CVs and reads through them. After some contemplation, he says, "I'd choose Tom. He doesn't quite have the experience Ellen does, but his work is spectacular. And I think he's ready for the next step. I also think he'd work well with your team."

Brian grabs Tom's CV from him and peruses it thoughtfully. "You're right."

"I am?" Justin frowns at him. "I don't know if you should trust my judgment. I'm pretty sure I only got this job because I'm sleeping with the boss."

"True," Brian chuckles, reaching for the intercom and calling for Cynthia. She strides in and takes the winning CV from Brian as he announces, "Hire Tom. Tell him he can start on Monday."

Cynthia smiles at Justin. "Good choice, honey."

"Thanks, Cyn."

"What she said," Brian says, grinning at Justin. As soon as they're alone again, Brian jumps up. In a flash, Justin finds himself pressed up against the desk with Brian's mouth crushed against his. After one very intense kiss, Brian cups Justin's face in his hands and asks, "Where am I taking you tonight? Anywhere you like, anything you want to do."

"How about..." Justin thinks for moment, enjoying Brian's thumbs stroking his cheeks gently. "How about dinner and drinks, then a trip to my studio? I'm dying to paint."

"Sounds good." Brian kisses him again, then asks, "What are you going to paint?"

"What do you think?" Justin grins at his all-time favourite subject. "Are you up for another modelling session?"

"I'm always  _up_ for that," Brian purrs, his words laced with innuendo. "Oh, and Taylor? Thanks for helping out."

"Any time, Mr. Kinney."

*

It's just shy of eleven when they get to the studio. Justin unlocks the door and stumbles slightly as it swings open; the drinks they shared at dinner were  _strong._ Like, throat-burningly, eye-blurringly, stripping-your-stomach-liningly strong. Justin can normally hold his drink but these ones have made him come more than a little undone. He's slightly unsteady on his feet as he gravitates towards his easel. As he sets up a fresh canvas and kicks off his shoes, he catches sight of something flying across the room. He realises quickly that it's Brian's shirt, followed swiftly by Brian's shoes, socks, pants, and briefs. Justin turns around and finds himself staring at a very naked Brian.

"This is how you wanted me, right?" Brian asks, ever so smug.

"This is how I always want you," Justin murmurs, drinking in the splendid sight.

"Are you going to join me?"

"I'm not the one modelling," Justin laughs. Brian simply raises an eyebrow expectantly. Well, why not? Chuckling, Justin strips down to his briefs, earning him an approving nod from Brian. After setting up his paints, he grabs a few brushes and tucks them into the band where they're nice and handy. Justin then starts contemplating the blank canvas and how he might fill it. Meanwhile, Brian roams the room, clearly showing off and loving every second of it.

"Now  _where_ do you want me?" This is asked in a low, seductive purr, rich with lust and promise. Justin has to tear his gaze away from Brian to scan the room. Where does he want Brian? The couch? The window-seat? Maybe on one of the stools, placed in the middle of the studio? Deciding is no easy task; not when he's stuck in some messy grey area between tipsy and drunk, and  _especially_ not when Brian is standing in front of him totally naked, looking utterly delectable.

"Um." Justin swallows, struggling to maintain his train of thought. "Wherever you like."

He watches, entranced, as Brian saunters over to the workbench and jumps up on it and spreads himself out on his back. Of course Brian would choose that spot over anywhere else in the studio; it's front and centre, illuminated under the spotlights - fuck, it's practically regal. Or maybe it's just Brian that makes it appear that way.

As he folds his arms behind his head and gazes upwards, Brian starts laughing. "Are those your sketches... on the  _ceiling?"_

Justin glances up and smiles. "Yeah, uh, I was running out of space on the walls."

"I noticed. You know, there's always room for them at home. Or at Kinnetik."

"You really want more of my work lying around?" Justin asks, thinking of all the pieces he's been bringing home or hauling over to Kinnetik. There's never enough room for all of it. The sketchbooks can be put away quite neatly, but the paintings? He's constantly rotating them, rearranging them, searching for ways to fit them all in. It can't be done, of course. There's too many paintings and too little wall space. It must be driving Brian crazy... mustn't it?

Apparently not. Very quietly, Brian replies, "I always want more of your work."

A blush rises up Justin's face. As he approaches his easel and sets up a fresh canvas, he gazes at Brian, soaking up every last detail: the way his hair is falling back, all silky, the soft locks catching slightly in the light; the gentle rise and fall of his chest, up and down, up and down; and, most memorably, how his eyes are scanning the ceiling slowly, admiring the sketches with a quiet fascination. Justin imagines himself diving in, submerging himself in these details, feeling as though he could quite happily drown in this - especially that look on Brian's face.

With another rise and fall of his chest, Brian breathes in deeply and exhales slowly. Idly, he asks, "So it's back to commissions?"

"Yeah. They seem to be picking up again... I've been getting lots of emails this week, several of which look very promising." Chewing on his lower lip, Justin hesitates before adding, "It's great, but I don't know if that's what I came here for."

Brian tilts his head to the side and meets Justin's gaze. "What did you come here for?"

Justin smiles at him. Brian already knows the answer, of course, but that's not the point. "To find out what might be here for me. To find out if I could do this. The commissions are a nice reminder that I'm actually wanted here... and the money's nice, too. More than nice, in fact. But I want to go further. I feel like I could really..."

He finds himself trailing off for no particular reason. There was a time when he felt like he couldn't share these things with Brian, but that was so fucking long ago. Now, Justin is sure he could share anything with Brian. So why is he hesitating? Maybe it's just that what he has to say seems so big. It looms over him, intimidating in how potentially impossible it is. 

"... really...?" Brian prompts curiously, staring back up at the ceiling.

Roused from his thoughts, Justin blurts out, "I want to reach people."

As he attacks the canvas with his pencil, he continues, "Art was everything to me when I was growing up. Before I met you and discovered sex-"

At this, they share an indulgent smirk.

"-art was my main outlet." Justin pauses, thinking back to that time. Smiling, he recalls, "It provided me with respite and solace... it kept me going... it made me feel connected to people. I'd pore through these books and go to galleries and it always felt like a discovery. Like I was finding people who saw the world the way I did, or who could transport me to the world from their perspective. I want to be that for someone."

"You will be," Brian says, with utmost confidence. It warms Justin. Still, though, it's a big ambition to have. He can feel it looming again.

"It's tough," Justin admits, his gaze flicking between Brian and the canvas.

Brian looks at him for a very long while, his eyes dark and serious, yet tender at the same time. Some time passes before he says, very gently, "You've been through tougher."

"True," Justin concedes. The memory of tougher things passes over him like a shadow, leaving him cold. He shies away from the sensation and focuses back on his art, committing all of his energy towards translating the scene in front of him onto the canvas. Soon enough, he's immersed in the task. It's second nature to him now; he knows every last inch of Brian so very well that his hand practically moves of its own accord. It's almost muscle memory, really. As Justin sketches a rough rendition of Brian's body with ease, he contemplates what could be done to make this piece different. Last week, he played with light, working on dozens of portraits and infusing each one with different lighting. Before that, he was obsessed with realism and hyper-realism, and worked himself ragged for weeks to achieve an insane level of detail in his sketches. Tonight... what will it be tonight?

Justin abandons the easel and stands off to the side, staring at Brian until the image is imprinted in his mind. He's lost count of how many times he's featured Brian in his work; after all, Brian is his all-time favourite subject. But a simple, run-of-the-mill rendering won't do. Much like Brian, Justin enjoys taking chances. He abandons the idea of painting Brian as he appears and decides to have some fun. After a few intense moments of contemplation, Justin finds himself gazing at the pots of paint amassed all over the stools surrounding the workbench. That's what this portrait needs - colour. Lots and lots of colour.

But where to begin? What colours should he choose? Sucking on his lower lip, Justin runs through a mental catalogue of all the possibilities. When nothing terribly intriguing crops up, he decides to take a more hands-on approach.

"Lie still," Justin murmurs, approaching Brian carefully. "I want to see what colours would suit you best."

Brian hums contentedly, remaining perfectly still. Justin circles the workbench once, twice, his eyes mapping the length of Brian's bare body. He's all long limbs and smooth skin and... beauty. That's Brian, in a nutshell: beautiful, in every regard. Justin smiles and runs a finger from Brian's knee to his ankle, laughing as Brian squirms. "I said lie still."

"Then don't tickle me, you little shit."

"Sorry," Justin says insincerely, chucking. He retrieves a paintbrush from the band of his briefs whilst eyeing the pots of paint thoughtfully, associating each one with a different recollection. Red, like Brian's mouth after hours spent kissing. Blue, like the light that used to bask their bedroom in the loft. Yellow, like the roses Brian always gets him for his birthday. Violet, like how that club in Chelsea was lit three nights ago, flooding over them as they danced, rich and lush.

Justin dips his brush into that paint pot and admires the purple sheen. 

"Keep your eyes closed," he whispers as he jumps up on the workbench and straddles Brian. Brian obeys - his eyes remain shut, although as soon as Justin settles on top of him, a lazy smile stretches over his face. It's irresistible; Justin swoops in and kisses Brian, brushing their lips together, tracing the curve of Brian's soft smile with his tongue. Brian sighs happily, his smile growing.

Then, unceremoniously, Justin takes the brush and swipes it over Brian's chest. Brian's eyes pop open. "Did you just-?"

He glances down at the thick stripe of purple paint, his eyes widening in horror. "Ugh!"

"You said I could paint you," Justin says innocently, splotching more paint over Brian's bellybutton. 

Brian grasps his wrist. "I meant on a canvas, you brat."

" _Darling,_ you are a canvas," Justin says, smiling sweetly. Since Brian has a firm hold on his right wrist, he grabs the paintbrush with his left hand and gets to work on painting stripes over Brian's ribs. This very nearly prompts a burst of laughter from Brian; Justin smirks, knowing this is one of his most ticklish spots. 

"You little-" Brian grabs him and wrestles him onto his back. He steals the brush away and tosses it, threatening, "I'm going to get you for this."

"Really?" Justin grins and licks his lips. "What are you going to do to me?"

Keeping him pinned to the bench, Brian eyes Justin with a smoldering gaze. "Close your eyes."

Justin gladly obeys. He does so love being punished and can't wait to find out what Brian has in store for him this time. The anticipation builds as Brian keeps him pinned with one hand and drags the other down Justin's torso, his touch firm and promising. Brian's lips make contact with his neck, eliciting a gasp from Justin. This is quickly met with a smug chuckle from Brian. As Brian's tongue swipes his collarbone, Justin moans. He's on the verge of trembling with excitement. The kisses continue down, down, down, until Brian's mouth is grazing his hipbone. Justin is so wrapped up in the sensation, he barely notices Brian's hands leaving him.

He does, however, notice when a river of paint splashes over his chest. "What the fuck?!"

He opens his eyes and finds Brian smirking triumphantly at him, paint pot in hand, still dripping globs of thick yellow paint. They splatter over Justin's chest, which is absolutely  _coated._ As Brian starts to cackle with devilish glee, Justin seizes the opportunity: his hands are free, and there are paint pots aplenty within reach. He grabs the indigo and hurls it at Brian. It lands in a messy spatter that reaches from Brian's neck to his cock. Justin bursts out laughing, doubling over as Brian's mouth drops open in utter outrage.

Staring down at the spatter, he exclaims, "I look like a fucking Rorschach test!"

Justin gazes intensely at the mess of indigo paint. "I see... two guys fucking."

"Of course you do," Brian mutters, a hint of laughter shining through. 

Justin grins. "They kind of look like us."

Brian bursts out laughing and grins back. "Of course they do."

There's a thick smudge of paint that's dripping down Brian's chest in one long indigo rivulet. Justin meets it with his index finger and swirls it into a spiral that goes around, and around, and around. Smirking, Brian grabs another pot of paint. He dips his fingertips in and then poises them, as though he's about to flick paint all over Justin.

"Don't," Justin pleads weakly, but he knows it's no good. He only just manages to close his eyes before Brian flicks his fingers, spraying magenta all over Justin's face. 

"Asshole," Justin admonishes, as Brian laughs maniacally and spreads an entire handful of pink paint in a diagonal smear from Justin's left shoulder to his right hip. "You know, it's a good thing this bench is sturdy."

"Hmmm?" Brian doesn't seem to be listening - he's too wrapped up in tracing his fingers through the yellow paint on Justin's chest, writing something. Justin glances down and snorts.  _Property of Brian Kinney._

"That does it," he mutters, saying a silent thanks for the sturdiness of the bench. Justin grabs Brian and wrestles him roughly onto his back. As Brian squirms underneath him, he grabs the orange paint and slicks it up Brian's sides. Then aqua, smeared along Brian's jawline and into his hair. This, apparently, crosses a line; Brian grabs the orange and aqua pots out of Justin's hands and hurls them at him. They land everywhere in huge, wet flecks, bleeding into the other colours.

Things rapidly escalate from there: it's an all out war, with the two of them slipping and sliding against each other, wrestling messily until they're both coated. Justin can't stop laughing; as Brian paints his thighs amber and aqua, he squirms and shakes, his upper body quaking with the force of his laughter. He glances down at Brian and grabs a fistful of his hair, spreading lilac paint through it. Brian scowls up at him (although he's clearly fighting a smile), evidently unimpressed with his new look. Justin falls back against the bench, cackling. It's certainly quite a sight to see - Brian Kinney with lilac hair, an aqua jawline, and his neck smeared with a stunning combination of crimson, magenta, and daffodil yellow. There's a pesky smudge of green staining the corner of his mouth - Justin pulls Brian towards him, wipes the green away, and kisses him.

It almost turns into something more but then inspiration strikes. Justin wriggles out of Brian's embrace and jumps off the bench, calling over his shoulder, "Hold that thought."

He returns to his easel and grins mischievously at Brian. "And assume the position, please."

Brian raises his eyebrows. "Which one?"

"From earlier." Justin feels a swell of affection as Brian smiles and repositions himself on his back, one leg stretched out long, the other knee lifted slightly, his right arm tucked behind his head and his left draped across his stomach, his fingers angled towards his swollen cock. There's such a stark contrast between Brian, who's now bathed in colour, and his surroundings - apart from some splattered residue from their paint fight, the bench is drab, greying wood, and the shelves behind are similarly dull. The spotlights seem to be drawn to Brian; everything else is dimly lit or obscured by shadows. Enthralled, Justin is consumed by one thought:  _He's luminous._ He really is, in every sense of the word. Everything else seems bleak by comparison.

But hasn't it always been that way?

In the end, Justin omits the dreary workbench and darkened shelves. He paints Brian and Brian alone, suspended in the centre of the blank canvas. His body is a myriad of colours, smudged together, bright and beautiful. Midnight arrives and disappears in a flash as Justin hones in on details: the contrast of Brian's sunshine-yellow fingers against his purple abs, the way the colours staining his left leg bleed together into a brilliant spectrum of warm shades, and the tiny little flecks dotted everywhere - spots of green along his right shin, splatters of blue across his shoulder, hints of pink around his ribs. Justin watches the way the paint drips off Brian and pools on the bench. There's something captivating about it, that slow slide of wet paint, trickling down, down, down. Gingerly taking his finest paintbrush in hand, Justin tries to replicate it. With the most delicate of touches, he creates rainbow rivulets that trail down the white canvas in colourful, glossy trails.

When the last one is complete, he calls out Brian's name. It's fucking hilarious watching Brian peel himself off the bench; Justin doubles over yet again, laughing helplessly, not stopping even when Brian practically tackles him.

"Brat," Brian scolds, but there's an edge of amusement to it. He wraps his arms around Justin, embracing him from behind. Justin burrows into it as they stare at the canvas together. He feels Brian's lips pressing gently to his ear, moments before Brian whispers, "It's magnificent."

 _Magnificent._ The word glimmers in his mind and leaves him a little breathless. Justin grabs Brian's arms and pulls them more tightly around him. "You want it?"

Brian nods and kisses his shoulder. "That, and one other thing."

"Anything," Justin vows, closing his eyes as Brian kisses his neck.

"You're going to take me home, we're going to get in the shower, and you're going to get down on your knees..."

Sparked with arousal and intrigue, Justin murmurs, "Mmm-hmm?"

"... and scrub all this fucking paint off me."

Justin snickers and tugs Brian even closer. "Okay."

Brian presses one more kiss to Justin's neck and then pulls away. Justin looks on and quietly admires Brian as he goes to fetch his clothes. Whilst slipping on his shirt, Brian adds solemnly, "We're also going to have a very serious conversation about the fate of my suit."

"I'll have it drycleaned," Justin says, but he can already see patches of paint seeping through the white silk. Drycleaning is so not going to cut it on this occasion. As he grabs his own clothes, he promises, "I'll buy you a new one with all my cold, hard cash from my upcoming commissions."

This seems to placate Brian, and they finish getting dressed in comfortable silence. With less to put back on, Justin is quicker. He busies himself with taking all of the paint pots and brushes to the sink to soak. Then he collects up Brian's briefcase and opens the studio door, standing back to let Brian out first. 

As Justin locks the door securely, he feels Brian lingering just behind him. Once he's tucked the keys away in his satchel, Brian grabs his hand and leads him towards the stairwell.

"By the way," Brian says, squeezing Justin's hand. "You reached me."

Reminded of their earlier conversation, Justin blushes. "Really?"

Brian shrugs and brings Justin's hand to his mouth, kissing it gently. "Like I'd let anyone else cover me in paint and wreck my best suit."

"That's just for me, huh?"

The stairwell is almost pitch black, so Justin can't see Brian at all. He can only hear his very gentle, adoring response: "We'll add it to the list."

"It's a lovely list," Justin notes, huddling in close to Brian as they reach the ground floor and exit the building. It never fails to move him, to be reminded of all the things that exist solely between the two of them. As time goes by, there seems to be more and more that Brian saves for him and him alone.

Once outside, they stop for a smoke. Justin plucks two cigarettes out of his pocket and places them both between his lips, leaning in so Brian can light them up. 

"You're lovely," Brian says softly, as he takes his cigarette from Justin. After taking a long drag and exhaling a thin stream of smoke, he murmurs, "You're beautiful."

Underneath the paint smudged across his cheeks, Justin blushes furiously. He steps closer to Brian until he's nestled up against him, and whispers, "You are. You're... you're luminous."

 _Fuck, that's so goddamned cheesy,_ Justin thinks, cringing inwardly. Maybe he can blame it on those incredibly strong drinks. He can feel Brian staring at him but refuses to meet his gaze, too embarrassed by such a cliched outpouring of affection.

But then he feels Brian's palm brushing against his cheek, cupping it tenderly. He looks up and meets Brian's gaze. 'Luminous' doesn't even begin to cover it. Justin wonders whether he would even ever be able to put words to it, but then again, some things are best left unspoken. And some things, like the look on Brian's face right now, are best captured in other ways. Filled with renewed inspiration, Justin beams at Brian and asks, "Wanna come back to the studio tomorrow?"

**The End**


End file.
